


when the devil drives

by romans



Category: Kingsman: The Secret Service (2015)
Genre: Gen, M/M, abuse mention
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-07
Updated: 2015-03-07
Packaged: 2018-03-16 17:53:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 599
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3497423
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/romans/pseuds/romans
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Michelle and Harry come to a misunderstanding. </p><p> </p><p>Super short unbeta'd AU ficlet.</p>
            </blockquote>





	when the devil drives

If Harry Hart is just a kind-hearted tailor, she's the Queen Mum, and that's that. Michelle exhales smoke, aiming to irritate, and is a little disappointed when Harry Fucking Hart doesn't so much as wrinkle his posh nose. 

"You were in the SAS, yeah?" she says, and Hart raises a neutral eyebrow. He's only got one that she can see, with the eyepatch and all, but it's still bloody annoying. 

"And then you came home and decided to be a tailor? And what-- hired my Eggsy out of the kindness of your heart?" 

"Something like that," Hart says, fiddling with his tumbler. He takes a sip of whiskey and straightens a little from his elegant slouch against her- well, his- kitchen counter. His marble counter in his posh Mayfair flat. She taps out her cigarette against the speckled marble. 

Normally she'd treat nice things with a little respect, but she's not in the mood now. She eyes him up, tries to get his measure. Something about the whole thing makes her hackles rise. 

"See, it just bothers me," Michelle says, "you hiring a lad like him, taking him on, giving him a room in your flat, keeping him away doing god knows what for weeks at a time- out of _kindness_?"

He's a bloody tailor, not a multi-millionaire. There's no call for any of it, and no tailor she's ever heard of has had a live-in apprentice. The whole thing _reeks_. 

"He's a good lad," Harry says, "and I want to help him. I owe his father--"

"I know that," Michelle snaps. "So give him a scholarship, yeah? Help him go to Uni. Give him his own space." 

"Mrs. Unwin," Harry says, pressing his free hand to the eyepatch, as if it pains him, "I can assure you that my relationship with your son is completely--" 

"You don't hit him?" she says, stabbing out the cigarette. She knows what it's like. She's knows better than Eggsy can imagine, and certainly more than benevolent Mr. Hart ever will. If her husband's ex-squaddie wants to shack up with her son- well, it doesn't sit right with her, and she can't see that it ever will, but- it's a life. It's something. It's more than most get. 

"He loves you," she says, and watches with satisfaction as Hart's face goes slack with surprise. "He's young, and he's daft, but he loves you. Don't you dare throw him out when you're through with him." 

"It's not like that," Hart says, and she shakes her head, slings her bag over her shoulder. Bullshit, it's not like that. And she's not likely to stick around in this bloody flat, watching her son earning his keep. She's seen him with bruises, sometimes, and he won't talk about it. That had been before Harry Bloody Hart had appeared at their doorstep, wrapped in bandages and finely tailored cotton, but she knew how it went. Probably had a love nest on the other side of town, and had gotten tired of commuting back and forth. 

And her son _loved_ the man. 

"Just treat him right, yeah?" she says. "Stop hitting him." 

Hart drops his head at that, and she stares at him, lets him stew in his shame. He's silent when she leaves, helps her open the door and wrangle the stroller into the street. 

It kills her, leaving Eggsy with him, but needs must. When she glances out of the window of her cab, she can see him silhouetted behind the sheer curtains in his front parlor. Eggsy'll be home late tonight. 

She'll leave them to it.


End file.
